He hadn’t taken any liberties. The woman had no call to be embarrassed because she’d responded so naturally to him. . . . Unless she’s not embarrassed, but ashamed because she still loves Kenny.
Dylan grabbed a bale of hay and heaved it into a stall. Once, he’d resented Miller for saddling him with a city-girl and questioned God about why long-standing, charitable plans went awry. Now he understood Miller’s matchmaking plans. . . . But Almighty Father, why are You allowing me to be tempted with a woman who’s so stuck on her lost love, she doesn’t want me?
Seventeen
All her life, Sondra made it through by hiding her feelings. No one knew when things bothered her, and she didn’t let them know when she was hurt. Now, it strained her to the limit to keep her emotions hidden—at least where Dylan was concerned. She left her heart unguarded, and it counted as the most foolhardy thing she’d ever done. It took all her courage to face him and feign nonchalance.
Dylan showed up every single day. His dedication and faithfulness were unquestionable. Sondra tried to find comfort in the fact that his work would help her keep the ranch. In truth, the intensity he now showed accomplishing the chores about the place troubled her greatly. She’d been painfully obvious in her attraction. Clearly, he was politely making it clear their partnership shouldn’t have crossed the line. He was too much of a gentleman to say anything, but actions spoke louder than words. What good would it do if she kept the ranch but lost her friendship and partnership with her closest neighbor?
Another chilling thought occurred to her. Was she going to be able to keep the Curly Q? She pored over all of Miller’s old books, and the facts shook her to the core. The price of beef was lower than it had been in the past four years, and due to meager rainfall, feed prices kept creeping higher. Were the dark shadows in Dylan’s eyes strictly due to overwork, or was worry causing them?
As she walked to the henhouse, Dylan rode off. Nickels beat his gloves against his thigh, creating a small cloud of dust. He squinted at Dylan’s back. “That man couldn’t get more work done if he was twins!”
Sondra nodded somberly. “What can I do to help?”
Nicholson shrugged. “Dylan’s got us all organized just fine. Seems to me you already have your hands full with a little one.”
Her arms automatically curled around a little baby carrier she wore. She gave Nickels a wry smile. “Matt keeps me busy, but I’m getting pretty good at reaching around him. I’m tired of not pulling my weight around here.”
“Ma’am, far as I can see you have no call to fret. Things go along at their own speed, and there’s things on a ranch you can’t change, hurry along, or make smell better.”
After he strode off, Sondra shook her head. These men had seen the ups and downs of ranching. They were able to be more philosophical about the downturn in the market. Then again, even if the Curly Q didn’t turn a profit, they could easily find a job elsewhere. She, on the other hand, stood to lose everything.
“I won’t let that happen.” She patted her baby on the back and vowed in an iron tone, “I’ll do whatever it takes. We are not moving an inch.”
❧
The kiss under the mistletoe had really done it. He knew they shared an explosive chemistry. Still, he didn’t want Sondra thinking he chased after her for her land or livestock. If he got within three yards of her, he’d make a fool of himself because he’d likely grab her, kiss her silly, and confess his love.
Any fool could see she needed time yet. If he pressed her or started an obvious attempt at courtship, she’d bolt. One kiss, and she’d run away like a scalded cat. He ached for her, but for the sake of her peace of heart and his pride, he decided to back off. Day in, day out, he strove to keep some distance between them. He’d resolved to change that today. It seemed like a fair enough time to broach the topic of love and marriage, it being Valentine’s Day and all.
Dylan planned each move. He’d pull out every stop, use every trick in the book, and turn a stellar profit. That way, marriage wouldn’t be an escape hatch she resorted to out of desperation. Once Sondra held the deed, he’d propose—with an offer up front of a prenuptial. That would prove he wanted her, not what she finally owned. Today, though, he’d start doing the little things that made a woman feel courted. . .like giving her a card. Flowers would be coming on too strong. Just one thing at a time.
He popped the card into his shirt pocket, rode over, and pulled to an abrupt halt in her barnyard. The place was quiet—eerily quiet. Pink-and-red iced doughnuts lay strewn and trampled on the ground.
❧
Sondra hit the automatic dial on the phone again. She twisted around and cranked the swing to keep Matt content, but with every ring and turn, her tension spiraled higher. “God, please help us.”
“What’s going on?”
She spun around. “Dylan! I’ve been trying to get you.”
“What’s going on?”
“Cows are down. Nickels said a dozen or more. South pasture.”
He bolted out and vaulted onto Pretty Boy. Sondra ran to the door and called, “They already have the medical kit with them, and I called the vet.”
After he’d gone, Sondra paced back and forth across the living room. Whatever it was, it was bad. She couldn’t stay here when Matthew’s future hung in the balance. She bundled Matthew up, strapped him into a car seat, and latched him into the jump seat of a pickup. They were halfway to the south pasture when her cell phone rang.
“Sondra, where are you?”
“By the old oak, turning toward the pasture. What do you need?”
“Rope and mineral oil.”
“I have rope.” In the distance, she saw him spin around and catch sight of her.
“You drove a trailer!” He hung up, and she wasn’t sure whether he was glad or mad.
Dust swirled around the truck as she stopped. It didn’t hide the appalling sight of cattle lying and staggering about. Sondra tore out of the cab. “What happened?”
“They ate mountain laurel.” Dylan gestured toward clumps of shrubs and segments of branches along the fence and road. He didn’t bother to hide the worry in his eyes or voice.
Not a day went by that Sondra didn’t see Dylan and the men work hard. Never had she seen such grim determination or desperation. As they loaded several sick cows into the trailer, Dylan ordered, “Sondra, Milt came out in a jeep. Drive it to town and get as much mineral oil and lard as you can, then swing by the vet’s. Once he’s here, he’ll call an order in to his assistant, and you can bring back everything.”
After moving Matt to the jeep, Sondra called BobbyJo. “I need help. . . .”
By the time Sondra reached town, her new friend and Eva Nielson had two carts waiting outside the grocery store. “Here you go.” BobbyJo tossed a box into the jeep. “I bought all their lard—seventeen buckets. Only nine bottles of mineral oil, though. Eva dashed to the drugstore and got two cases.”
“Thank you both!”
“We’re praying,” Eva added.
“Please do. It looks bad.” They loaded the jeep; then Sondra raced on to the vet’s and back home.
❧
Dylan paced the length of the barn and back again. Thirteen cows had died. He shook his head. Lord, if I were a superstitious man, that would spook me. You’re in control of this, but I don’t understand why this happened or how we’ll get through.
The vet had just left after staying round the clock. His assistant would be here for the next shift. From the looks of it, one or two more cows wouldn’t pull through. The other eighteen would. Between the ones they lost and the medical cost of saving the others, the ranch had just suffered a nasty blow.
Lord, I’m grasping at straws here. You know how hard I’ve been working. You know how important it is to me to reach that goal so Sondra won’t just marry me out of pressure. With the feed prices high and beef prices low, it was already tight. This—well, this is a disaster. Four weeks. There are only four weeks until the lawyer figures ou
t the profit margin. What am I to do?
“Dylan.”
He wheeled around. Sondra walked toward him. Over the past thirty-six hours, she’d brought mountains of food and gallons of good, strong coffee to the barn. Instead of getting underfoot and pestering the vet with a bunch of questions, she’d seen to the matters that didn’t disappear just because an emergency cropped up. Sweet little Sondra didn’t even make a big deal of it, either. Pitching in came naturally to her—a trait Dylan admired to no end.
Others noticed, too. Edgar wasn’t a man to do a lot of extra talking, but he’d come to the barn this morning. Sondra had gotten up early and already mucked the horses’ stalls in order to free him up to do something else. He’d slapped Dylan on the shoulder and murmured, “You best better claim that gal soon, or I’m a-gonna.”
Dylan folded his arms across his chest. “Over my dead body.”
Edgar let out a rusty chuckle.
The moment of levity ended. More pressing issues were at hand. Dylan lowered his voice. “I want you to ride the fence. Keep close watch.”
Solemnly nodding, Edgar rasped, “Gotcha.”
Before Sondra arrived at the pasture yesterday, Dylan had ascertained the mountain laurel didn’t end up in the pasture by accident. The sheer volume proved the wind couldn’t have blown the heavy branches over the barbed wire fence. That’s where it was, too—inside the pasture, not outside the wire, blown up by the fence. Someone intentionally set the poison in the pasture.
The hands knew it, too. Plenty of hot words and suspicions flew—until Sondra arrived. Dylan barely had a chance to order the men to keep their conjecture to themselves before she’d gotten out of the truck. Since then, they’d been circumspect. No use scaring the poor widow half out of her wits.
Sabotage. But who had a motive? More importantly, how could Dylan protect Sondra and the ranch from any further danger? Oblivious, she crossed the floor as if it were freshly swept linoleum instead of ankle-deep in cow patties. The tray she carried had several empty spots on it, telling him the men probably crowded around to grab sandwiches the minute she stepped foot out of the house. Even so, three big subs remained.
“I figured you must be starving.”
As she drew closer, he squinted at the baby sling she used to carry PeeWee. It looked wrong.
“Chips and soda.” She laughed weakly. “Teresa is at the house, watching Matt.”
“Good.” He took the tray from her and set it on a bale of hay.
“Middle one’s roast beef and cheddar—your favorite.”
Fishing into the roomy cloth sling, she pulled out a bag of barbecue chips and a soda.
“Mmm. Those are my favorites, too.”
A smile sketched across her face. “I know.”
She tilted her head toward the tray. “Roland, there’s plenty more where this came from. Help yourself.”
Nodding, the vet’s assistant finished fiddling with an IV going to one of the cows. “Much obliged.” He swiped a sandwich and soda, then cleared his throat. “They’re doin’ about the same. Mind if I go to the stables and look at the litter?”
“Go ahead.” Sondra made a vague gesture. “The only one promised is the pup with white socks. You’re welcome to any of the others.”
“Thanks.” He strode out.
Dylan took a bite. Her sandwiches always tasted great. This one might as well have been filled with sawdust. “Sondra, honey, I’m worried.”
She motioned toward his sandwich. “Eat. Worrying won’t change things.”
He washed the bite down with soda.
She opened a soda and took a sip. “You’re the one who’s counseled me to exercise faith. I guess it’s time for me to suggest it’s your turn.”
“Feeling sassy, are you?”
She lifted the can in a salute. “Probably. I’m a scrapper, you know.”
“Yeah. It’s an admirable quality. . .as long as you rein it in so you don’t gallop straight into trouble.”
“Trouble seems to find me often enough. I’m not about to issue any invitations!”
Studying her, he forced a smile. “Does it go with the hair?”
She smoothed back a few stray, twirly wisps. “Probably. Kenny’s mom said God painted me with red neon to warn men off.”
His last gulp of soda didn’t stay down. Dylan choked and crushed the can in his fist. “What did she know, anyway?”
Sondra shrugged, but Dylan knew her too well to be fooled by the nonchalant action. The words stung. He refused to let them remain unchallenged. Sauntering over, he tossed aside the can and stared at Sondra’s hair. Her eyes dilated with surprise.
“Neon red? The woman’s color blind. It’s mahogany. Rich, wonderful mahogany.” He unfastened the barrette, threaded his hands through her hair, and growled, “Your hair doesn’t warn a man off—it beckons him. Especially this man.”
Her lips parted in surprise.
Dylan couldn’t help himself. He’d longed to kiss her again, ever since that day under the mistletoe. Hands full of her hair, cradling her head, he lowered his head.
“Hey, boss!”
Sondra jerked away. His hands tangled in her hair, but she shook free, her cheeks scorched with color.
Nickels scuffled in. “Howie and me been think—oh.” He halted, and his gaze shifted from Dylan to Sondra and back. “I’ll get back to you later.”
“Don’t let me keep you.” Sondra sidled away. “I was just bringing food. There’s a sandwich. Help yourself.”
Once she was gone, Nickels smirked. “She’s cuter ’n a bug’s ear when she’s all embarrassed like that. Voice goes up a whole octave, too.”
Dylan didn’t say a thing.
Nickels grinned unrepentantly. “Only other time I’ve seen her do that was when she hit you with that pie. I suspect you got something even sweeter this time.”
“You’re wrong.” Dylan glowered.
“Sorry, my timing stunk. So anyway, Howie and me were talking. We wondered who had it in for you or Sondra. We’ve gotta puzzle out who’s got motive.”
Dylan turned to the side and gulped soda. “If you have any ideas, let me know.”
“Can’t think of anyone who’s got a bone to pick with you. As for Miz Thankful, well, it stretches my mind to imagine anyone bein’ upset with her.”
“She’s a good woman.” Dylan changed the subject. He didn’t want to say anything more, but he’d already called the sheriff. Dylan could think of several people with a grudge—Miller’s relatives.
The vet’s assistant returned. Weary to the bone, Dylan grabbed a blanket and headed toward the ladder to the loft. He’d ascended three rungs when his sister’s voice stopped him. “Dylan, the guest bedroom is ready for you. I stopped by your place and brought fresh clothes, too.”
He looked down at her. “No thanks. I’ll catch a few winks here.”
His sister gave him a searching look. “Okay. Gotcha. Best for you to sleep here. Definitely best.”
He didn’t reply. Once he settled into a bed of hay and covered himself with the blanket, weariness washed over him in waves. Sondra couldn’t face me after that almost-kiss.
Eighteen
The printouts from the computer formed tidy stacks on the table. Dylan and Sondra sat side-by-side as she looked at the bottom line. It showed a deficit of five thousand dollars. Five stinking thousand dollars. If they couldn’t account for those monies, the ranch would fall below the guidelines listed in Miller’s will.
“So if we sell some steers right now, it still won’t boost the profit?”
“No. They’ll register at the same value as the price you’d get for them.”
“If we sell off most of the hay we have on hand, that could raise some money.”
Dylan grimaced. “Not enough. I’ve already cut it close on ordering. With feed prices at this level, I’d hoped to skim by.”
She chewed on the end of a pencil. “I thought you did that to reduce the chances for any other fires.”
>
He didn’t answer.
Sondra’s eyes narrowed. “That big roll of hay didn’t have any reason to catch fire, did it? It wasn’t green, so it shouldn’t have gotten hot. And there wasn’t a thunderstorm, either. You still don’t say anything about the fire.”
Dylan shoved the calculator across the table. The last figure on the sheet still told the same tale: They couldn’t wrangle an honest way of reaching the goal.
“What do you want me to say? It’s a bad situation.”
“This may sound paranoid, but I wondered if someone set it on fire.” She sucked in a quick breath and added, “And as long as I’m sounding like a nut case, I may as well confess that I suspect someone purposefully flung the branches into the pasture when the cattle got poisoned.”
Dylan studied his knuckles. They’d gotten scraped yesterday. “What made you think that, and who’d do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.” She spread her hands wide. “You have to admit, it’s pretty fishy that we’ve had two disasters in two weeks. There’s not mountain laurel anywhere around that pasture, and that road’s just a fire road that isn’t on the map. It struck me odd at the time, but we were all so busy, I didn’t say anything. Then the hay roll caught fire. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it just happened to be the one next to the tractor barn.”
“Good thing Luna spotted the smoke. Replacing machinery is costly.”
“Exactly my point. This is the only ranch in the whole county that seems to be running into trouble.” She shoved back an errant curl. “Well, that’s not true. Compared to the Willards, I shouldn’t complain at all. Those poor little kids lost their parents and home last week.”
“That’s not a good comparison. The tornado was a terrible tragedy, but at least we know what caused it. What’s happened around here doesn’t have an explanation. Who do you think would attempt to sabotage the Curly Q?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have any enemies. And everyone in the community goes out of their way to sing your praises. The thing I keep coming back to is, if we don’t turn enough of a profit, the ranch gets sold.”
In His Will Page 13
